


Tea and Treason

by junko



Series: Written in the Scars (of Our Hearts) [34]
Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M, references to past self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having confronted his former captain, Byakuya expects Ukitake to be more upset by the accusation that Ukitake used forbidden magic to resurrect Kaien Shiba from the dead, but things with Ukitake are never, shall we say, direct.  Meanwhile, in the Human World, Renji and Urahara talk about Renji's starring role on "Don Kanonji's Ghost Bust!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea and Treason

**Author's Note:**

> Please be warned there is a brief discussion about past self-harm.

“More tea?” Ukitake asked, holding out the pot for Byakuya calmly. 

It was not the response Byakuya expected, having just accused Ukitake of resurrecting his lieutenant from the dead with the help of the Shiba clan and illegal magic.

“Are you sure you’re warm enough?” Ukitake asked Byakuya kindly. Then, he turned to Rukia and said, “Rukia, why don’t you close the door and stoke the fire?”

Rukia, who had been tugging at the sleeves of her shihakushô and staring miserably between Byakuya and Ukitake, jumped up to do her captain’s bidding.

The fire pit snapped and popped. Despite the evening’s chill, one of the doors of Ugendō had been slid open to a view of the lake. Paper lanterns lit a path down to the shore; they swayed on creaking bamboo poles. Crickets chirped. They were silenced when Rukia slid the door shut. The room grew noticeably warmer.

“Have you no other response?” Byakuya asked Ukitake.

“You’ve had a terrible shock, Byakuya,” Ukitake said, filling Kyōraku’s tea bowl before adding tea to his own. “You’re not thinking clearly. I understand why you might imagine I would do something drastic in order to have Kaien back among us, but the rest makes no sense. What would I need with the supplies from a Kuchiki caravan?”

“Not you, of course. The Shiba,” Byakuya said tersely.

Kyōraku laughed heartily at that. “You really think Kūkaku Shiba wants silks and satins marked with the Kuchiki crest?”

Byakuya had a horrible image suddenly flash through his mind of that pig-riding Ganju dressed in Kuchiki finery. He shook his head. 

“You’re trying to make me seem foolish,” Byakuya said impatiently. “But it’s very clear that the Shiba are well-outfitted and well-fed. They must trade illegally, as selling food is forbidden in the Rukongai without a license. Whether they steal for themselves or for profit, it matters little. I have no doubt they make their living outside of the law.” 

From where she still stood by the door, Rukia said quietly, “They accepted my apology. They’re nice people.”

Byakuya had to concentrate to keep his fists from curling into his hakama. Thank fate Renji had told him about Rukia’s visit or he would be showing a very unseemly burst of temper right now. Even so, his teeth set at the idea of a Kuchiki groveling to those mongrels. Moreover, Rukia had nothing to be sorry about; she’d discharged her duty as a soldier. If anyone should apologize, it should be the captain who was unable to kill his lieutenant. 

Byakuya had been willing to sacrifice not only his lieutenant but his lover in order to uphold the law. He wouldn’t have hesitated for even half a heartbeat had Renji been possessed by a Hollow and already lost to them. Byakuya would have struck Renji down with his very last breath, if necessary.

Yet Ukitake bowed out… claiming his illness, that convenient aliment of his. But, this was not the argument to have now. In fact, if Byakuya started it, he would most certainly lose not only his temper, but possibly much, much more.

“Nice or not, they’re outlaws,” Byakuya said calmly, though he could not keep the heat from his gaze as it slid to Ukitake. 

Kyōraku leaned into Ukitake and nudged him with his elbow and gave him a broad, playful wink. “You’re in cahoots with outlaws, Handsome.”

Ukitake smiled but shook his head. “Byakuya is very serious, Shunsui. He doesn’t want us mocking.”

Still they treated him like a child. Byakuya tried not to let it get under his skin. He took a sip of the tea to steady his roiling emotions. 

Kyōraku grunted. “If I took him seriously, Jūshirō, I’d have drawn steel already. He comes into your house and insults you with wild accusations? No, better we treat this as the joke it is.”

Ah, so Kyōraku was bothered a little. They may act unflappable, but clearly the subject of Kaien Shiba was a sensitive one. It was also noteworthy that Ukitake had yet to deny any of it.

“Shunsui, your temper,” Ukitake said softly, laying a hand on Kyōraku’s thigh. Their eyes met and the silent communication of long-time lovers passed between them—old arguments that no longer even needed words, played out in a quick succession of expressions. 

Kyōraku sat back, his shoulders dropping, and let out a laugh and said, “It’s because we need sake this late at night, not this ridiculous tea. Let me fetch a stronger drink.”

They watched Kyōraku pull himself to his great height and make his way to the far side of the room. The wood in the fire pit snapped and crackled.

Now, it was just Ukitake and Byakuya across from one another. Rukia still clung to the shadows by the door, watching anxiously at Byakuya’s back. Kyōraku rummaged through a tall step tansu at the far side of the room; the angriest Byakuya had ever seen him.

“You should go to the head captain with this, Byakuya,” Ukitake suggested. “There should be a manhunt for this imposter.”

“I’m sure Kūkaku would help,” offered Kyōraku snappishly, without turning back to face them. 

Ukitake nodded, “He would be captured quickly if there was a coordinated search.”

Or they would shelter him before anyone got the chance. Byakuya’d been foolish to come here first. If these two captains were the enemy, then he’d just given them a huge advantage. Byakuya’d been entirely too trusting. Had Aizen’s betrayal taught him nothing?

“Yes,” Byakuya said, standing up. “I’ll go immediately.”

Rukia stepped forward, “I’ll go with you.”

Byakuya’s first impulse was to protest, but then he found himself overwhelmed by a desire to get her away from the influence of these two captains. “I would be glad for the company, Rukia.”

Since his entrance was so rude, Byakuya felt he should take the time to say a proper goodbye. Even though the air was a bit forced, they all played their parts. Ukitake gave Rukia a pouch full of dessert treats and Kyōraku insisted Byakuya take home a bottle of “the good stuff.” There were promises to take care and see each other again and greetings to relatives. Rukia was resoundly hugged and Byakuya was given bare nods of a bow between equals.

After twenty minutes, they were finally alone and on the street outside the Thirteenth. The neighborhood shops were shuttered tightly for the evening. It was dark and quiet, but for a few lanterns lit above the main road. The dim light attracted moths and darting brown bats. 

Rukia hugged her chest for warmth as they walked. Byakuya considered offering his cloak, but it was spattered with bandit blood. 

Their sandals made lonely chuffing sounds on the hard packed dirt. Rukia frowned at the ground and her mouth pinched as if working out what to say. Finally, she looked up at Byakuya. “You don’t really think Kaien-dono is out there; do you, nii-sama?”

“I don’t know,” Byakuya said honestly. “I wouldn’t have confronted Ukitake if I didn’t think it was a strong possibility, however.”

“I killed him with my own hands,” she said, looking at her palms as if she could see blood there.

Even if Kaien hadn’t been resurrected, Byakuya felt he was a damned and restless spirit. Kaien’s memory haunted Rukia far too much and weighed far too heavily on her shoulders. “And you have been absolved of that, though it was never dishonorable, Rukia. You did what had to be done.” Thinking back to his own recent actions, Byakuya added, “There’s no shame in acting swiftly to save others, no matter what the cost.”

“He was my friend,” she whispered, “My mentor.”

“Yes and what happened to him was awful,” Byakuya said as kindly as he could, but he had little patience for these unnecessary self-recriminations. “However, in that state he wouldn’t have hesitated to devour you or anyone else. It was your duty to destroy what he’d become. You should take peace in that.”

She looked up at him then, unshed tears sparkling in her eyes. “I do,” she said. “That’s why the idea that he’s out there somewhere bothers me… Byakuya, Kaien isn’t like that! He wouldn’t work against the Soul Society.”

Byakuya said nothing. Instead, he looked up at the clear, dark sky. Stars twinkled in the _Ama no Gawa_ that seemed to flow above them like a glittering river.

“It must be wrong,” Rukia continued. “It’s got to be like Captain Ukitake said: an imposter. You didn’t know him like I did, nii-sama, Kaien Shiba was a good man.”

 _And you were very much in love with him_ , Byakuya thought, but didn’t say. He also kept to himself the fact that if Kaien died and was brought back, he could have changed. The magic of resurrection was taboo for a reason. 

“Shouldn’t we flashstep?” she asked. “Does the head captain even keep hours this late?”

“I’m not going to the head captain, Rukia.”

“But you told—“

“If the public treason on the execution grounds didn’t stick to Ukitake or Kyōraku how could anything I say turn the head captain’s ear?” Byakuya said with a sigh. “There’s no point. If I’m to make a case against either of them, it must have fewer conjectures and far more proof. It was… an excuse to leave.”

“Oh.” They walked in silence for several paces. Rukia watched him with her wide eyes, so much like Hisana’s, and finally added, “I know I wasn’t there and you probably won’t consider this important, anyway, but I don’t understand how you can accuse either of them when Aizen is out there somewhere. His power is absolute illusion, nii-sama! Why couldn’t this fake Kaien be that? An illusion?”

Byakuya glanced at Rukia. It was, of course, possible. Aizen’s abilities were terrifying in their implications. For all they knew, Aizen could’ve not disappeared into the Garganta at all and still be walking among them, every day. It was a horrifying possibility to know that Aizen could be casting an illusion even now and that every moment could be suspect.

But, thinking like that would drive a soul insane. 

“This whole set-up seems like Aizen’s kind of thing,” Rukia continued. “I mean, look at the trouble it’s causing. You and Captain Ukitake… you’ve always been close. With this wedge between you, we’re that much weaker. It’s like when Aizen faked his death and tried to pin it on Captain Hitsugaya. It was crazy what people were willing to believe. He and Gin, they were always whispering, making people doubt each other, and causing all that dissention. How is this any different?”

It wasn’t. It was just safer to imagine Aizen far, far away. Byakuya stopped in the road. “You make an excellent point,” Byakuya said. “I promise you that I’ll consider the possibility of Aizen’s hand in all of this.”

Rukia blinked up at him and then she slowly smiled. Lifting her hand, she held out her littlest finger. “Pinky promise?”

This was ridiculous. Were they children?

 _No_ , Byakuya thought, _she’s my sister, and, in this moment, she treats me like she would any brother_. And, even more, the way Rukia looked up at him reminded him of Yachiru, whom he could never resist, no matter how silly. So, Byakuya lifted his hand and crooked his pinky around hers. “Yes, pinky promise.”

#

It was late when Renji made his way back to the shōten. 

He and Ichigo had hung out for a while by the canal, tossing rocks into the river and talking about music, how stupid high school was, and Rukia. Rukia, it seemed, hadn’t told Ichigo much about Inuzuri. No surprise, really. A lot of that shit—yeah, it really wasn’t for public consumption.

So Renji had been careful to keep his stories positive—well, as positive as any from there could be. It kind of amazed Renji how many stories he found he could tell, actually; it was clear Rukia had made life there a whole lot less awful. The other surprise was how little he could relate to Ichigo about her life at Academy. Rukia had no classes in common with Renji, except some of the basics, and then—and then she was gone, off to be a Kuchiki and a Court Guard.

He wasn’t even sure who her school friends had been, not really. 

It was weird, but Renji was beginning to think maybe she’d been the lonely one this whole time, the one who’d missed out.

The concrete sidewalks were cold under his bare feet. His soles were still hard enough that he only once took the precaution to walk around a broken beer bottle. Otherwise, he hardly felt the urban detritus underfoot. 

Renji frowned. How had Urahara known? Did that crazy scientist have some funky algorithm that factored in Renji’s spirit body experiences somehow? 

It made Renji’s head hurt just thinking about it, but he supposed it must be part of the equation somehow. After all, he never felt weird in this body, like it wasn’t him. Moving was natural. He knew could fight in this gigai, if need be. He had no doubts his body would respond the way he expected. Muscle mass felt right. Center of balance. All of it.

Hell, he’d had sex in this thing. You’d think if anything was going to feel off, it’d be then.

Dude was a genius, for real. But then, why the fuck couldn’t Urahara make mod souls that weren’t completely whack?

Bodies must be easier than souls.

Yeah, obviously.

Urahara had left the light on for him. Harsh electric brightness illuminated the wooden porch of the shōten as Renji made his way to the front entrance. The sign said the shop was closed for business and he had no keys. 

“Ah, shit,” Renji muttered with a glance back in the direction of the Kurosaki clinic. Maybe he should’ve asked Ichigo if he could stay the night. Would he even fit in that tiny-ass linen closet Rukia slept in?

But, before Renji could turn back the way he’d come, the door slid open. Urahara yawned and blinked sleepily at Renji, “Ah, the prodigal son returns!”

Urahara wore green pajamas that were decorated with yellowish squares. Each square had some kind of Latin letter in it and words Renji couldn’t read. 

Seeing Renji’s curious frown, Urahara pointed to an “H,” and said, “Hydrogen. It’s the periodic chart of Elements… only jumbled up. It actually makes me a bit crazy to see them floating around, all out of order like this, but it was a gift from Tessai. He’s a magician, not a scientist, you know. It was a nice thought.”

“Right,” Renji said, having no idea what Urahara’d just said beyond the fact that he didn’t like something about the pajamas Tessai’d given him. Renji stood there a moment, marveling as he always did, at how boyish Urahara managed to look without his hat. When, Renji realized he was still standing there stupidly, he asked, “So, uh, can I come in?”

Urahara started, as though he suddenly realized he was still blocking the door. “Oh, yes, of course,” he said, stepping aside. “How was your evening, Lieutenant?”

Renji shook his head. “Well, let’s see. I forgot my shoes. Matsumoto talked me out of my last yen. Ichigo’s friends all think I’m dating him. And… that awful show has apparently been recorded so I’ll never live it down. Personally, I’m hoping for a massive Arrancar attack to get everyone’s mind off my stupid ass life.”

“Oh.” Urahara said, following along silently as Renji trudged down the hall toward his room. “Well, on the bright side, I’m sure your wish will come true soon enough.”

Renji grunted. “I guess that’s something.”

Urahara nodded. They’d come to Renji’s door. Urahara continued to stand the hallway expectantly. His hands were clasped in front of his chest and his lips were pursed as if he were trying to find some words he wanted to say. It wasn’t hard to guess what it might be about.

Renji sighed. “So you watched the show?”

“Yes,” Urahara said. 

When Urahara didn’t offer more, Renji prompted, “And?” Leaning back against the wall, Renji crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I might as well get used to it. Go ahead, take your shot.”

“Oh, no shot,” Urahara said with a wave of his hand, “Nothing like that. For some reason, I hadn’t made the connection before until the announcer kept going on about stripes and beasts and whatnot, but your tattoos—they’re for Zabimaru?”

It took Renji a second to realize that was a question. When he finally did, he shrugged, “Yeah. What of it?”

Urahara rubbed the back of his neck and smiled nervously. “Oh, it’s nothing important. I just wondered when you—“ he made up and down motions by his forehead, “—started.”

Seemed kind of personal, didn’t it? Still, it wasn’t like Renji was talking to someone who wouldn’t understand. And the guy was a scientist. Renji supposed it was like talking to a healer, a doctor. “You asking when I started wanting or when I could afford them?”

Urahara seemed to relax a little, “The former, please.”

“Rukia saw this shinigami, right? One of us. Not one of the ones who—“ Renji stopped himself from finishing ‘rounded us up,’ and glanced up, measuring whether to say. It was hard to tell with Urahara. He was an outlaw, sure, but Lady Yoruichi went back and forth, it seemed, with impunity. So, Renji held back. “I mean a guy from the neighborhood, you see? It was a moment for her. Rukia got it in her head we might be able to do the stuff they did, like kidō. Once we started practicing—that’s when I started…”

Renji trailed off again. It was already a little dangerous to bring up the idea that he tattooed himself for his inner demon, but a whole other level to admit to scratching the marks on his body until he bled.

“This was before Academy?”

Renji nodded, “Decades.”

“So long?” Urahara seemed surprised. 

“Go figure, no one sent a palanquin for us,” Renji said. “Anyways, we had family who weren’t any good at it. Rukia wouldn’t leave them behind.” If fate hadn’t shown its hand, they’d still be there. His body covered in self-inflicted scars—or, more likely, yakuza ink. Looking away from Urahara’s intense gaze, Renji said, “Thing is, we had to wait until they left us, you know what I mean?”

“Yes, I believe I do,” Urahara said, though if it bothered him, it didn’t show. Instead, he seemed to be tallying something in his head. “So, the prescribed number of years in Academy… hmm, so then, how long until you achieved bankai?”

Renji shrugged. It was hard to say when training with shikai had turned to trying for bankai. “I’ve been in the Gotei a little under a half century. Why do you want to know this stuff all of a sudden?”

“Oh, it was the television program, you see!” Urahara smiled pleasantly. Renji got the sense that, had Urahara had his hat, this was one those moment he’d have shoved it further onto his head. “It jiggered something loose, a thought, an idea about this purification rite your partner wants you to go through.”

“Yeah?” Renji uncurled himself from the wall, curious. “Like what?”

“Like, condoms,” Urahara said as though that made any kind of sense. “Which would be better protection do you think? Wearing a condom or cutting off your penis?”

Renji’s hands immediately went to protect his private parts and he flinched. “God! The first one! What the fuck even kind of question is that? I mean, technically the other option works, I guess better, you know, in some twisted way maybe more reliably, but—shit! Who would do that?”

“Exactly,” Urahara said happy. Then he turned on his heels and left. “Goodnight, Lieutenant!”


End file.
